Oh Very Young One
by woodbyne
Summary: "S**t!" Matthew grunted, freezing mid-thrust, "I busted the rubber." The trials and tribulations of one Amelia Jones and Matthew Williams, and the joy they bring each other. Guaranteed feels or your money back.


"_Merde_!" Matthew grunted, his body freezing mid-thrust, "_J'ai explos__é__ la capote!_"

Amelia stopped dead for the three seconds that it took for her to understand the French and feel warmth seeping inside of her.

"Out!" she yelled, shoving his shoulders as hard as she could – which was not to be sneezed at. She may have been all curves and dimpled smiles, but she was also a certified gym-bunny and she favoured the punching bag, "Get _out_!"

Obediently, he pulled out, backing away, "Amie-"

"Out of the room!" She yelled distractedly, hurling his jeans at his face, "Spermicide, spermicide, where'd I put the spermicide?!"

Blinking owlishly Matthew pulled his pants on and went downstairs.

Twenty minutes later, Amelia found him sitting on the back steps, on his second cigarette and staring pensively into the shrubbery. Sighing, she sat down beside him.

"I thought you'd quit those things," she said quietly. She reached out to put a hand on his arm, but something about his expression made her stop.

"Yeah, me, too," he answered, taking another drag that made the tip of the cigarette blaze red and wither a few more millimetres of paper.

"You know I hate it, Mattie. It's bad for-"

"What? The _baby_? No danger of that happening. Now or ever," there was the same darkness in his expression that made her pause. Something was seriously upsetting him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I was going to say _you_, you big lug. You know the pill isn't one hundred per cent effective. We haven't planned for a baby, Matt. They take a lot of time and money. We'd have to move into a house with more room, into an area with better schools-" the American ticked off the things on her fingers as she went.

"I'm shooting blanks, Amelia."

A silence. "What?"

"You know I had a… a prostate exam last week? They checked my sperm count, too. They were having a fertility workshop or something. Movember and all that. Mine is zero. I got the letter yesterday." He looked so miserable and Amelia was at a complete loss as to what she should say. So instead, she laid her head against his arm.

Silently, he shifted, moving his arm out from under her head and pulling her close to his chest as he stubbed out the cigarette.

"You smell like an ashtray," she complained half-heartedly.

"I'm sorry."

~====o)0(o====~

"Surprise!" Amelia cheered, trying to cajole a response out of her stunned boyfriend.

"_How_?" Matthew asked, staring at a point just above her head as he tried to understand the sentence she had just presented him with.

"Well, you know that we stopped using condoms after your announcement, and I gave up on the pill because my cycle's settled down and it's not doing anything for my figure and I guess that God decided to give us a little miracle," she shrugged, a happy little smile on her lips. Matthew's eyes returned to hers, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Who's the father?"

"You are, of course!" she smile strained slightly as her brows furrowed.

"Who's the father?" Matthew repeated flatly, his eyes cold.

"Matthew, it's you," Amelia insisted, smile dropping off of her face.

"I never thought you would do this," the Canadian shook his head, still trying to process, "I have been medically declared _infertile_, Amelia. And you expect me to believe that you're carrying my child?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" she trailed off reproachfully, looking a little cowed.

"How stupid do you think I _am_?" Inscrutable was steadily giving way to annoyed and hurt. Her boyfriend was usually very good with his emotions – something he got from his father, she was sure – so when he started cracking, Amelia knew he was really upset.

"I don't think you're stupid, Mattie! This baby can be yours if-"

"Can be?" He drew a deep breath through his nose, "It _can be_ mine. Who is the father?"

"Matthew-"

"Who is the father?"

"Please just calm-"

"I AM CALM!" It was the first time Matthew had ever shouted at her, or even in her presence. Usually he was a soft spoken man, who wouldn't dream of raising his voice for anything. But now his shoulders were shaking, harsh lines had been gouged into his face, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists, "Just tell me who the father is." Every word sounded as though it took physical effort to keep it at a reasonable volume.

"You," she insisted, tears welling up in her eyes, "I swear to God, Mattie, it's you! I – I went to a sperm bank, okay? I know how bad you wanted us to have a baby. _I_ want us to have a baby. I see you with your sister's kids and it just- it breaks my heart. You would be the best father in the world. I swear on our unborn child, Matthew I haven't slept with anyone else. I got artificially inseminated."

"You what?" His anger seemed to have evaporated, replaced by complete confusion, "But… But you _hate_ going to the gynaecologist."

"I know, I know. You know you're the only person I ever want poking around down there. But this was for us. For our family," water was openly flowing down her face and her words were interrupted by hiccups, "I'm so sorry, I've done the wrong thing. But if you don't want this baby then it isn't going to have a daddy because you are the only father I would ever want for my child." The cogs whirring in his brain were audible as they overheated, working to try and understand what had happened. The last traces of anger drained away, leaving him somehow less. His shoulder's sagged in relief. It occurred to Amelia that he had been less angry than he had been afraid.

"Amie, Amie, Amie," Matthew whispered, his hands on her cheeks, thumbs wiping away her tears even as they fell, "I can't believe you would do that. That… why didn't you just say that in the first place? Oh, babe, I'm so, so, so sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should have- I'm sorry."

"Mattie," Amelia laughed shakily, blue eyes crinkling in the corners and her eyelashes clinging together wetly as she smiled, "You're being Canadian again."

"I love you," he said earnestly, "I do. I love you so much, and I don't say it enough. I'm going to change that. I'm going to tell you I love you every day. I'm going to tell our baby I love it every day." He dropped to his knees, hugging her close and pressing his face to her stomach, "Hello baby. I'm going to be your daddy. I love you, baby." Matthew said, over and over again. Just holding them both, the woman he loved and their unborn child.

It wasn't until later when she saw the tearstains on her shirt that Amelia realised he had been crying.

~====o)0(o====~

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddy!" a small, blurred figure wailed as it hurtled out of the bushes and into Matthew's legs, almost knowing him over.

"Hey, honey," the Canadian grinned, swinging the little girl onto his shoulders and turning his head to smile at her, "What is it?"

Blonde curls tickled his nose and a round, pouting face appeared in his line of vision as his daughter leant over his head.

"Daddy, Jason says I can't be a part of this family," she said, sniffing in a way that meant that she was close to tears. Just the way her mother did.

"Lorelei," it was Matthew's turn to frown as he started back to where the rest of the family – grannies and grandpas and aunties and uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews and brothers and sisters – were all gathered, "Why did Jason say that?"

"Because I have the wrong colour eyes," she muttered, clinging to his hair, "Everyone in our family but me has blue eyes."

"Well, that's just silly, Lorie. My eyes aren't blue, and neither are Uncle Tommy's or Grandpapa Francois. Just because you don't have the same colour eyes doesn't make you not family." Lifting her from his shoulders, Matthew held her so that he could brush the sunshiny ringlets that were so much like Amelia's from her face and look at her beautiful green eyes. Green like the ocean before a storm.

"But you always say that Uncle Tommy's psychic," the little girl protested.

"Do I?" her father laughed.

"You do! You say Uncle Tommy's a psychic and should be locked up!" Matthew had a quick glance around to see that no one had heard her say that. It was just as well that she was using a malapropism, because if Uncle Tommy caught Matthew calling him psychotic, there would be blood.

"So I do. But let's not let Uncle Tommy hear us saying that, it might hurt his feelings, okay?" That was the nice thing about five-year-olds. They could be very sweet.

"Okay daddy," she promised; the threat of tears gone and her smile returned.

"You're my little girl, Lorie," he said fondly, setting her down and joining her to sit beside Amelia.

"I know that!" she giggled, picking up an orange slice and sucking the juice out of it.

"And you know what else?" he asked, pecking his wife on the cheek and ruffling his daughter's hair.

Lorelei's blonde hair whipped her cheeks as she shook her head.

"I love you very much."


End file.
